if I could live my life over again would I be the only one or given a new life an empty page or might I prefer to hold the knowledge I have gained, to start in soil as a sprout without the memory of the tree that spawned me and set me free upon this earth as a plotting acorn a cloud of dandelion seed a coconut carried to a different shore on an indifferent sea, or spirit energy transformed back to light and reborn from forth a celestial womb to begin the cycle all-together and all anew (on the universe’s cue)
notes… now that I have been birthed, and know my worth (the universe decided I was ok to be born, I am here), should I trust that to be reborn again- or in some other form. thoughts ?
the binding profundity of the dark; a governor’s call rings grants a stay from decay pretense/ see-saw \reprieve this puppetry of light until that dire hour from which no noble or vile traveler has been seen or heard from since.
.one of those that just popped into my mind… the profound coming of the dark, the unknown, I know how to hope, I know how to dream, but… how am I to battle that, to survive that, the prospect of never being is natural, yes, but it is almost worse than the alternative, I try to wrap my head around, the universe made me exist, all history united in this, me and you, but yet, given my chance, it will be all over in a glance, it is maddening, it shakes me to my core, there is a time past fear, and this is it, which makes me question everything. and then I fall back and wonder if it is better to question or just live on every breath, even if that makes no difference it makes a difference now, even if that is all we ever will have, I hope, I pray, not… but as my poem says we have not heard from those who have moved on regardless of who they are… and I will be much the same…
so- should I? marry you death- now or then why wait? why the rush? inevitable- the perfect mate; fate- so let the courtship begin and never end. unless I should begin again; reincarnation or resurrection- so let the lantern be lit so I may follow into the path of light.
delivered from the ether birthed onto this blessed vessel celestial gestation, my ordained time to grow seed to sapling in this world- of- bones; the very light of the only heaven we know projected onto our sacred ground the giver of life our only sun so might I have this chance this moment a miracle – in this- world of bones.
notes: revelation today… the words popped into my head for the past few days “this world of bones”… because that is all that is left, it is not a good record of the amazing life that has spread here, just in my short lifetime, or any time, the earth will be just a graveyard one day, even more than it already is with the dinosaurs and previous life forms… but for us… the bones will not just be our bodies but our buildings and thrivings, it will all end, and that is OK, that is the way of things, I fear for myself, of course, I don’t know how to square that peg, but I am not alone, we all have to meet that end, and so we will, I fear I will be lost to the ether, absorbed back into the universe that has no need for the meaning of me, and I will never know, I will just be gone, I hope, and pray that my spirit finds a place, but even the universe must end, and maybe that is what death is about, even the oldest thing, the only thing, must have a start and an end, this existence, my life, is no exception, but that does not make it easier to comprehend…the end.
voices are distinct, such as we, think about how much goes into a particular voice at any particular time, time, yes, time, genetics, body type, the evolution of ears that are around for the voice to enter, the endless amount of variables that makes a voice unique, because they all are, and then suddenly, like all things, there is silence, that distinction, that amalgamation of so many things… is gone. Never replaced by the same, there is no way to duplicate the recipe, sure, one can try, and maybe even bake something close or near a clone, but never, never to be exactly the same, so that voice has gone out, like a snuffed flame, once a life consumed, a remnant only in memory of a distinct sound, a singular voice, gone out, a golden disc, destined to roam the stars…
voices disappear voices go out like lights- once guided, gilded gilded lighthouse that surveyed the shore gone, swallowed by the surf of years and perhaps not all are lights but some are we come to trust to guide lessons learned beards grow long, and grey salt in the air whether calm or fray a beam we rely on even when we know the way, so well a voice gone taken back into the sea a light out never replaced to be
notes… in tribute to my father, been a year now, he was not perfect, so neither am I. But his voice, the noise, the frequency… there is silence in that space since, his sound’s occupation is absent there… and is missed.
waiting room, there is a window (always a window) stopping to admire the view ever-changing molecules ever-flowing change even on this calm day or nights, the light lets pass a signal to our brain the waiting room with the window and once more no, once only we find a door (the exit … or?)
notes… written at the car dealership (I know, how romantic)… but isn’t this all a waiting room? at times… we are in our little existence, our building, our world, looking out, from a window or the sky-light that caps our ceiling on earth, something is out there beyond, and I don’t just mean the ancient alien guy, there is a door we all go through, what’s on the other side? I wish I knew… I sort of hang my hat on the ole “matter is not created or destroyed” but what if my consciousness is set aside? what then? I admit, it terrifies me, even if I won’t be aware, I will just be… “gone”.. but I did exist so… at some point in time, I was there… but that does not quell the rumors ruminating in my fear…
t-hr..e-a-d..b-ar…e: I might imagine the fright, and the hindsight, upon looking back, at gomora, mysins were cast against only myself and her, but targets do not matter, had I struggled this long, so long, to not look back, perhaps, I would have spared miles upon my back and feet, only to come to this precipice gazing point, that all I cared for is back there, regardless of the infestation and decay of years, and here I wind up wandered, squandered- threadbare, so, do I dare?
left alone in the desert at night with no stars no moon to guide only thoughts those memories no oasis left to lie quite awake alone- for all of night
left alone in the forest at night not even an owl but a full moon above reach above the trees all surround pikes like walls staked to the ground shadows bend and tuck the bars around not a sound I curl in forever night
I remember a campfire tended to the warmth rising like a spire a canopy a bio-dome down to embers now gone flickers linger and succumb chasing into the sky like stars long gone- cocoon of death transforms as the one absorbed by the universe once more to sleep in other beings dreams dispersed from our-self-forming seed absorbed into the atoms of others- eternity?
notes… a musing in my status, even if surrounded we all die alone, we are not born alone, we are guided into this life, brought along with a mother’s hand in the womb, travel a path to our own existence, and then ? who knows… but it is there, always there, most of us live as if this will go on, but even the best and worst of us are gone, can this all be for naught? a cosmic tease? or is their more? and the only way to know… is down that path we all must go… does it pay to waist my mental wealth on these questions ? probably not… but for the life of me (pun intended) I can not ignore them… we die alone but I do not wish to die alone, is there a difference?
and as a reminder or a tip to newbies to my blog… these works are off the cuff, I wrote this within minutes, all of it, no torture of words, no wringing my ends, just my thoughts spitfire onto the page, that is what is what the muse so chooses me to do, so is this literary perfection ? no… or even my best expression ? perhaps not… but so it is, the cauldron that has consumed me since birth, even this little swirl of words… there are people out there who will not get it, and some who do, I send good will to all of you as we are here stewarding this world at this same time… for a short time… our time, we are together, as different or as same as we are… because.. we ARE….
“fuzzy“ is this a dream or a memory or the chi.ld.mera of the two? tea for two, only with you, of course a fuzzy room, white-light diffused blinds forms form obtuse outlines no sharp designations or edges, soften red tinted-felt tucked in victorian furniture, plum scented fancy attachments adorned to wanton crowns perhaps I am phasing out- I hear myself, having conversations I hear answers, but in no language to my understanding might I panic in this blurred reality? somehow though calm has the best of me is this how this ends? is this the heaven of the self? or paradise lost in paradox set beyond all living clocks built inside our inner blocks limbo cycles lock to lock
notes… going a bit old school metal on you… this band became… nah, I won’t ruin it…
there- ! storm clouds a’ gathering o’er the grave- of my brave- dead king pray-tell, what portents, will this bring more dead wars- more dead kings.
notes… sometimes I don’t know from where it comes (inspiration that is), I was passing a cemetery, not as old as the country, much older than years I can know by touch… and the words just popped into my head, the idea of a surviving warrior, longing for former glory but also realizing the horror…
the trees, their looks bear down upon me a whole row of judges bent the same forward their stoic state confirms they feast rightfully on my shame -; peddlers of the rain- the rumblings resonate in the scrum of my ancestors, a small-broken bird lies, in a puddle, flat mirrored frame surrounded by lily pads of cherry blossoms fallen a bloodless crime- not drowned but that of a twisted neck captured now placed unto that final nest, I contemplate the darkening-looming and attempt to tabulate the celestial math but I have no means to the master for I am locked in the strands of man- for- I am.
notes… this is one of those more cryptic ones that just came to me as is… so, this is how it is… the inspiration was a bunch of trees planted in a semi circle, they looked down at me, or so I felt/thought, and so it was….
Shades of My Garden 